


come on and take me now

by supernope



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-26
Updated: 2013-08-26
Packaged: 2017-12-24 17:25:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/942599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supernope/pseuds/supernope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis fucks Harry in the shirt he wore to the VMAs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	come on and take me now

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was encouraged by my pals on twitter and there is no plot to be found here. Quick and dirty plot-beta by the wonderful Ren loaded-gunn, any spelling errors are all mine!
> 
> I should not have to ask this, but PLEASE DO NOT RE-POST MY FIC ANYWHERE. If I find out that my fic has been re-posted to any site, I will report that person to the site for plagiarism, whether credit was given to me or not.

The car back to the hotel is madness, everyone high off the win and Justin Timberlake with no way to work it off. They’ve got another round of promo in the morning and the premiere in the evening, and no time for parties and getting drunk. Harry tips his head back against the seat as Louis and Niall squabble over who gets to keep the moon man for the night and Zayn and Liam talk excitedly in the back about JT and Kanye. He can feel his blood thrumming under his skin and pulsing at the base of his throat, scratches anxiously at his thighs as the van weaves in and out of traffic.

“Five minutes, lads, get ready to dash,” Paul calls from the front seat.

Louis and Niall don’t even seem to hear him, so Harry sighs, reaches across Louis and plucks the award out of Niall’s hands, reaches over the back of the seat and shoves it into Liam’s lap. “Neither of you get it tonight.”

Louis raises an eyebrow at Harry but doesn’t say anything, just drops his gaze to where Harry is bouncing his foot, too much nervous energy to sit still. “You alright there, Haz?”

Harry shrugs, a sharp jerk of his shoulder, and chews on the inside of his cheek. He can feel Louis’ eyes on him the rest of the ride and during the short trek across the hotel lobby and into the lift, fidgets with his belt and the buttons of his shirt as the lift climbs slowly. He almost breathes a sigh of relief once it stops on their floor, is already thinking about stripping down and doing some pushups as he follows Louis to their room.

He’s only managed to toe off his shoes and shuck his blazer when Louis crowds into his space, walking him backwards toward the bed. He huffs out a breath when the backs of his knees hit the mattress and he loses his balance, props himself up on his elbows and says, “Lou, what are you doing?”

Louis rolls his eyes and fists his hands in the hem of his t-shirt, tugs it over his head and drops it on the ground. “What’s it look like I’m doing?” Harry watches Louis fumble the button of his trousers open and decides this is definitely a much better way to expend his energy, sets to work on his own jeans. By the time Louis is crawling over him, completely naked, Harry is down to his shirt and is trying to work the buttons open, but Louis reaches out to still his hands, says, “No, leave it.”

Harry smirks and pulls his hands out from under Louis’, slides them up into Louis’ hair and murmurs, “Oh?”

Louis lays his hand over the butterfly, visible through the thin material, and presses down, eyes dark in the dim lamplight. Harry can feel his heart pounding in his throat, wrists, stomach, is certain Louis can feel it against his palm. The air in the room feels thick, tense and syrupy while they just stare at each other, so Harry whispers, “Kiss me, you fool.”

Louis reacts instantaneously, mouth on Harry’s before he has a chance to take a breath, and Harry hums into it, arching up against Louis and working a leg out from under him so he can wrap it around the back of Louis’ thigh and drag him closer. Louis grinds down against him and Harry gasps, lets his head fall back against the mattress as Louis ducks his head to mouth across his collarbone, tugging the collar of the shirt aside and closing his mouth over the wing of the smaller bird.

“Hey, can we,” Harry mutters, distracted by the scrape of teeth against his skin and the way Louis is rutting against him, only the thin material of Harry’s pants between them. Louis is already hard, grinding filthily against him, but Harry’s other foot is still resting on the floor and he wants to be able to spread out properly, to be able to plant his feet on the mattress and get some leverage. “Louis,” he grits out, shoving half-heartedly at Louis’ shoulders. “Go get the lube.”

Louis sighs, breath ghosting over Harry’s damp skin and raising goosebumps in its wake. Harry shivers when Louis rolls away, the air cool against his fevered skin, then scrambles back onto the bed, turning so that his head is resting on a pillow, and works his pants off. He can see Louis rummaging around in his bag, bum in the air, and wraps a loose hand around himself, gives a few lazy tugs before Louis turns around and scowls.

“Stop that, wait for me.”

“Well, get over here, then,” Harry laughs, watches Louis take a running leap onto the bed. He drops the bottle of lube and a condom onto the mattress, then drapes himself over Harry, and Harry tips his chin up into a kiss, locks his knees around Louis’ hips and feels blindly for the lube. He slips the bottle between then and presses it to Louis’ chest, whispers, “Come on, don’t make me wait.”

Louis shudders against him, drops his head to rest against Harry’s collarbone and just lies there for a moment before pushing himself up and sitting back on his heels. Harry spreads his legs, waits while Louis squeezes lube out onto his fingers and studies him, eyes tracking the rise and fall of Harry’s chest in the thin shirt, the way the material drapes over his collarbones and bunches over his hips. Harry wiggles his hips impatiently, kicks out at Louis when he doesn’t move and whines, “ _Louis_.”

“Needy,” Louis mutters, but he pushes against Harry’s knee with one hand, slides a finger over Harry’s rim and pushes inside. Harry shivers and sinks his teeth into his bottom lip, wiggles down against Louis’ hand when he goes too slowly.

“I can take it, Lou, come on,” he breathes, arching back when Louis obeys, too worked up to do much more than whine desperately as Louis works him open with two fingers, then three, thighs already trembling, sweat matting his hair to his forehead. “I’m good, I’m ready,” he babbles, reaching out for Louis and trying to drag him up. “I’m good.”

Louis tears the condom wrapper open with his teeth, hands too slippery to get a good grip on it, and heat twists in Harry’s belly. He sits up before Louis can roll the condom on, takes it from him and does it himself. He just wants an excuse to touch, really, leans in to bite down on Louis’ collarbone and mumbles, “You’re so fit.”

He can practically feel Louis’ eyeroll, settles back against the pillows and watches Louis slick himself up. The shirt is a bit uncomfortable now, the material stuck to his skin and a smear of precome on the fabric over his belly, but Louis keeps touching it, keeps stretching it out over his chest and digging the tips of his fingers into the dark shapes of his tattoos, thumbing at his nipples through the material, so he puts it out of his mind, concentrates instead on Louis above him, the light from the lamp glinting off the sweat beading on his forehead, the weight of Louis’ cock as he presses in slowly.

They haven’t had much time since getting to New York, had even less of it their few days in London, and Harry is a bit desperate for it, doesn’t care about going slow, just needs Louis to _move_. He wraps his legs around Louis’ waist and arches up against him, urging him on with heels digging into the small of his back, and Louis laughs against his shoulder, but he picks up the pace, leaves Harry clinging to his shoulders as he fucks Harry into the mattress, hard enough to have him sliding up the blankets.

Harry throws a hand back, braces it against the headboard so the back of his head doesn’t smack into it, and grits out, “Lou, I need –“

“Yeah,” Louis mutters, “I got you,” and then he’s shifting his weight onto one hand and slipping the other between them to grip Harry’s cock. The angle is a bit awkward, Louis’ knuckles dragging the material of Harry’s shirt against his skin until it feels a bit raw, so Harry unwraps his legs from around Louis’ waist, drops them back onto the mattress so he can dig his heels into it and fuck up into the circle of Louis’ grip.

He can already feel his orgasm coiling around the base of his spine, curling his toes down into the blankets and tingling in the tips of his fingers, and then Louis tightens his grip, times his strokes with every roll of his hips and thumbs over the head of his cock, and that’s it.

Harry arches up off the mattress and sinks his teeth into Louis’ shoulder as he spills over Louis’ fist and his own shirt, not wanting to give whoever’s next door to them too much of a show. “Oh,” he breathes, dropping back down against the pillows, and he watches in confusion as Louis pulls out and strips off the condom, then scrambles around on the bed until his knees are framing Harry’s waist. “Lou, what –“

But then Louis wraps a hand around himself, fingers already slick with Harry’s come, and presses the other down against Harry’s chest, tugging the material taut over the birds inked into his skin, and Harry grins lazily at him, reaches out to curl his hands around the backs of Louis’ thighs and drag him closer, close enough that when he opens his mouth and cranes his neck, he can get his mouth around the head of Louis’ cock.

Louis’ rhythm falters, then picks up as he wanks himself, hand meeting Harry’s lips on every upstroke. Harry whines when he shoves him back, hand still flat against Harry’s chest as he curls in on himself, and Harry opens his mouth, tongue out as he tries to catch some of Louis’ come.

“Fuck,” Louis wheezes, chest heaving as he stares down at Harry’s shirt where it’s sticking to his skin with both sweat and come, then lifts his gaze to Harry’s face. Harry flicks his tongue out to catch the bit of come on his chin, grin sliding into a smirk when Louis whines and sits down abruptly on his stomach.

Harry slides a hand up Louis’ thigh, thumb digging into the muscle, and says conversationally, “You know, I was going to wear this shirt again.”

Louis shrugs, reaching out to press his fingers into the damp fabric over Harry’s chest. “We can send it out for dry cleaning.”

“Paul is going to love explaining the nature of these stains to the attendant.”

Louis just laughs and fumbles the buttons open, peels the shirt away from Harry’s skin and tugs until he sits up, lets Louis pull it off and drop it over the side of the bed. Louis drapes himself over Harry’s chest, not even bothering to pull the blankets back, and Harry wraps his arms around him, rolls onto his side so they’re curled together and brushes a kiss against his temple. He can feel Louis’ lips drags against his skin when he yawns, strokes a hand up Louis’ back and tangles it in the hair at the nape of his neck. He can just see one of the sleeves of his shirt where it’s pooled on the carpet, and he hides a smile against Louis’ cheek.

“You know,” Harry murmurs, “one day we’re going to have to talk about your weird fetishes.”

He waits for an answer, rolls his eyes when one doesn’t come and he realizes Louis is already asleep. They’re going to be stuck together come morning, uncomfortable and itchy, and his brand new shirt is probably ruined, but he can still taste Louis on his tongue and his muscles ache pleasantly, the kind of burn that comes after a good workout. Limbs weighted down with sleep, Harry wiggles closer to Louis, nuzzles into the hair behind his ear, and lets his eyes fall shut. They can deal with the consequences in the morning.


End file.
